


Towards the Sound of Dreams

by chajatta



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, Racism, Slow Burn, Trainee Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 16:32:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4794473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chajatta/pseuds/chajatta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luhan is the anxious new trainee. Jongin is the experienced golden boy. It's a long and scary road they're both preparing to walk, but somehow they make it work together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Towards the Sound of Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published 21/07/2013

There’s a familiarly satisfying ache settling in Luhan’s muscles as he finally grinds to a halt. He breathes in deep, lungs expanding against his ribcage, and then his body crumples into a tired hunch as the rest of the group filters slowly from the room in clusters of twos and threes. They’d worked hard today and Luhan can see it in the fatigue that weighs down on eleven almost identical sets of shoulders.

Yixing is the last to leave the studio, double and then triple checking to make sure he has all of his belongings before offering Luhan a small thumbs up. Then he’s disappearing through the sliding doors and the studio, just minutes ago pounding with a thumping drumbeat and the squeak of converse on wood, is blissfully silent. 

There’s a soft clearing of the throat and Luhan looks up through sweaty hair as Jongin saunters across the room towards him. He slides down the wall next to Luhan and wordlessly presses a bottle of water into his hand. The plastic is sweating and Luhan glances down, watches as warm beads of water trickle over the delicate bones of his wrist. 

Luhan cracks the bottle open and he’s more than aware of Jongin’s eyes on him as he downs half of the water with gusto. They remain in companionable silence until the need to breathe forces Luhan to lower the bottle, spilling tiny droplets of water. Jongin leans in close, pushing right into Luhan’s personal space, and swipes a thumb over the dip of Luhan’s lower lip, then down over the flat plane of his chin. Luhan just barely catches the scent of Jongin’s aftershave under the sharp, pungent smell of sweat before he’s pulling away again. 

“Thanks,” Luhan half gasps. He recaps the water bottle, discards it, and when Luhan meets his gaze again Jongin is smiling, slow and tired and satisfied. 

“It feels good, doesn’t it? To be practising again.” Jongin stretches back against the wall as he speaks, flashing a tanned strip of skin. Luhan nods. 

“The day has finally come. We’re having a _comeback_.” Luhan teases, but it doesn’t mask the childlike excitement in his voice, and Jongin knocks their shoulders together gently. Luhan feels so young in that moment, despite the tiredness that thrums almost bone deep through his body. Jongin is half slumped against the wall, half pressed up against Luhan, and Luhan squints down at him, at the dark set of his eyebrows and the short bump of his nose. He sees the beginnings of a man in Jongin’s eyes.

Luhan rests his head against Jongin’s for a moment, before he blows air into his cheeks and braces his palms against the floor.

“I’m still not sure about some of the more complicated parts of our choreography, though,” he says. Jongin hums softly in reply, weight now resting entirely on the wall as Luhan pushes himself into a crouch and then pulls himself upright. “I wonder,” he muses, and Jongin tips his head back to study him, baring the expanse of his neck, “if there’s anyone around here that wouldn’t mind staying a bit late to help little old me out?”

The grin that blossoms across Jongin’s face is knowing and he clasps at the hand Luhan offers with sweaty fingers. He makes to tousle Luhan’s hair when he’s back on his feet and they grapple with each other, both dissolving into giggles when Jongin ends up nestled beneath Luhan’s armpit in a firm headlock. 

“Ugh. Is this any way to treat your instructor?” Jongin barks, but it’s tempered by the way he laughs, the sound rumbling all the way up from his belly. Jongin struggles a bit more and Luhan releases him, delights in his dishevelled hair and flushed cheeks. “I think I liked you better when you still respected me,” Jongin grumbles as he smoothes himself down and then strips out of his hoodie, throwing the soft cotton at Luhan’s face. 

“Come on then,” Jongin says from the other side of the room. He fiddles around with the stereo for a minute, resets the CD they’ve been practising with, and then moves to position himself in front of the mirror. Jongin flexes his entire body, loosening up his muscles, and this feels so familiar to Luhan, his body falling so easily into place beside Jongin as he automatically mimics his stance. Luhan bares his teeth playfully when Jongin glances up to check his position and the smirk he gets in reply holds a promise of so much more. 

Luhan does a mental count to three and then the drums slowly flare up again, rumbling right down to the tips of his toes. 

Jongin brushes their pinkies together.

“Let’s take it from the top.”

 

 

 

Luhan’s career with SM Entertainment begins with what some might call a fateful meeting. 

Luhan prefers to think of it as a lucky chance. 

 

 

Luhan worries himself sick the night before his contract is due to officially start: quite literally, if the churning in his stomach is anything to go by. He barely gets any sleep, body thrumming with a nervous energy that only seems to grow worse as the fingers on his alarm clock creep ever closer to six am. 

He gives up eventually, resigns himself to a couple of restless and hashed together half hours, and tries not to yawn _too_ obviously as he enters through sliding glass doors and is immediately whisked away on quick tour around the building by a surly looking man in a well pressed suit. 

SM’s concept of quick doesn’t seem to _quite_ match up to Luhan’s, but somehow he survives, asking polite questions wherever he can and even managing not to fall asleep standing up. All in all, Luhan considers it a job well done, good first impression made. 

The tour ends outside the dance studios and, after handing Luhan a clear file bursting at the seams with schedule details and other paperwork, the representative suggests (although from the tone of his voice Luhan gets the impression that it isn’t actually optional) that Luhan stick around and watch the tail-end of the practise that’s going on just beyond the open doorway. Then he’s ambling back off in the direction of the lift, leaving Luhan unattended for the first time since he’d entered the building this morning. 

Luhan isn’t left alone with his own thoughts for too long. He edges closer to the doorway and peeks into the room, mouth falling open a little as a mean looking instructor runs an exhausted looking group of boys through some complex choreography. He’s just starting to pick up the routine, feet shuffling to roughly imitate the footwork, when the instructor calls the class to an end.

Some of the boys all but flee from the room, pausing only to grab their bags and then shoving Luhan aside in their search for freedom. The others trail out more slowly, barely sparing Luhan a glance as they gather up into little groups, somehow finding the energy to share a joke with each other as they disappear. 

One boy lingers behind, though, making a show of lacing up his shoes and reorganising his backpack. As soon as the instructor leaves the room he’s straightening up and stalking over to Luhan with a surety to his movements that doesn’t match the soft fringe falling down over his forehead or the too big t-shirt hanging off his skinny frame. 

“Who are you?” He asks, but he doesn’t give Luhan a chance to reply before he’s ploughing on, “I’m Sehun. You must be new, because I’ve never seen you before and I know _everyone_ around here.”

Sehun looks incredibly young and his voice squeaks a little as he stares accusingly up at Luhan. Luhan just chuckles. His confidence is charming, in it’s own way. 

“I’m Luhan,” Luhan replies, dipping into a bow. “I just started today.” Luhan pauses. He can already tell that Sehun’s ego doesn’t need the boost from the audacious way he’s peering up at him, but Luhan decides to go ahead and give the compliment where it’s due. “You’re a good dancer.” 

Sehun preens, pleased smirk disappearing momentarily as he pulls a baggy hoodie over his head. His hair sticks out wildly when he reappears, but his thick fringe falls back down over his eyes and Sehun bats at it like an irritated kitten. 

“I know. You might be nearly as good as me if you work really hard, Lu- _han_.” His tongue rolls awkwardly over Luhan’s name, pulling at the syllables in all the wrong ways, but it’s strangely endearing and Luhan has to fight down the urge to tug playfully at his hair. 

“How old are you, then?” Sehun folds his arms across his chest and regards Luhan suspiciously. 

“Twenty.” Luhan answers, and the way Sehun’s eyes light up feels decidedly dangerous. 

“You’ll treat me to bubble tea then, won’t you, hyung?” Before he knows it, Sehun is clamping bony fingers around Luhan’s bicep and dragging him down the corridor, away from the training rooms that will soon become like a second home and out into the fresh spring air. 

 

 

The two of them strike up a surprisingly easy friendship. 

Sehun, despite the ego and unwavering self-confidence, is a sweet kid. He makes a habit of going out for bubble tea with Luhan at least once a week, where he pulls Luhan in close and whispers secrets from behind his hand; which teachers don’t mind if you’re five minutes late to vocal training, when it’s safe to sneak out to the roof when the pressure of everything starts to weigh down just too heavily on the back of your neck. 

Luhan cherishes it, the wry crease of Sehun’s eyes when he laughs and the way his tongue still rolls hopelessly over Luhan’s name. It feels familiar, in a strange way, and Sehun’s presence helps to chase away the loneliness that still springs up every now and again, as torrid and unwanted as it had been the day Luhan left Beijing. 

 

 

Luhan soon learns that not all of the trainees here are as friendly as Sehun. 

It manifests as cold indifference, mostly, and it’s not as if Luhan hasn’t encountered this kind of thing in Korea already, but he still hears the way some of them whisper about him. He’s heard enough horror stories from the other Chinese trainees to stop him rising to it, though, so Luhan tries his best to block it out.

It’s just that it’s difficult, sometimes, to focus on learning new steps, on guiding his voice up into higher and higher octaves, when he can feel their heavy gazes burning into the back of his head, their voices buzzing in his ears, incessant and hurtful like swarming insects. 

But Luhan is tougher than he looks, has skin plenty thick enough to deal with nobodies like them. Luhan is more than happy to keep his head down, to stay incognito, and the looks of barely disguised fury that twist their features are more than worth it when, less than a year after joining the company, Luhan and Sehun finally find themselves in the same dance class. 

 

 

When the day of their first shared class arrives, Sehun grips Luhan by the arm and drags him bodily around the room. Luhan has grown more than used to this by now and he allows himself to be manhandled, smiling warmly and exchanging polite greetings with each new person he’s shoved in front of. He’s more than pleasantly surprised when they’re all returned with gusto. 

Luhan’s half way through exchanging pleasantries with a tiny, wide-eyed trainee called Kyungsoo when the instructor motions for the class to start and everybody shuffles into place. The music they’re practicing with today is just starting, an old, American pop song Luhan recognises from his childhood, when the studio door creaks open and another boy edges into the room, head hung low and lips down-turned. The instructor doesn’t miss a beat, simply restarting the track and acknowledging the new arrival with a brief, “Jongin.” 

Luhan’s heard about Jongin. Gossip about SM’s golden boy is rife, echoing down every corridor. The jealousy in their voices is obvious as they whisper about how he’s guaranteed to debut in the next boy group, how he’s the favourite of all the teachers, how there is only a tiny circle of people that have somehow been deemed worthy of Kim Jongin’s attention. 

Sehun happens to be one of that circle and the name Jongin falls from Sehun’s chapped lips with almost unerring regularity as Sehun tries to regale Luhan with stories of the mischief he and Jongin have gotten into together, so frequently that Luhan almost feels as though he knows Jongin himself.

Despite that, Luhan has always looked forward to actually meeting Jongin in person, to finally being able to put a face to the boy envied by so many at this company. So Luhan watches as Jongin takes his place at the front of class and when he catches Luhan’s eye in the mirror as he glances up from the floor, Luhan offers Jongin his politest, most welcoming smile. 

Jongin’s facial expression doesn’t alter, though, and Luhan watches as he rolls too long sleeves up to his elbows, shifting his gaze away from Luhan and fixing it on his own reflection.

The smile fades from Luhan’s face like melting tar on a summers day as he studies the firm set of Jongin’s shoulders, the self-assured way he settles his feet, clad in a ratty old pair of converse, shoulder width apart. Luhan feels distinctly like he’s just been sucker punched right in the gut. Nobody else seems to have acknowledged their little exchange, though. Instead, they’re all shuffling into similar stances as the music rolls into its opening beat and Luhan, stood open mouthed and staring in the middle of the studio, gets his first glimpse of the talent that has made Kim Jongin so infamous. 

Jongin dances as though it’s an extension of the way he breathes, as though the soft lines of his legs and the sharp points of his hands are nothing more to him than a cold, curling breath on a frozen winter morning. Nothing could have prepared Luhan for this. No amount of whispering or gossip would have prepared Luhan for the way Jongin seems to come alive under the harsh studio lighting, for the way his entire body opens up until Luhan is torn between reaching out to touch and holding himself back, an eternally silent spectator. 

Luhan feels as though he was cast adrift the moment Jongin walked through that door and now- now he’s drowning, powerless to help himself, as if Jongin is some kind of ancient Siren drawing him closer to his own doom. Luhan gets so caught up in it, so caught up in _Jongin_ , that he almost forgets where he is and he stumbles when a shift in the choreography has the entire class surging to the right and breaking down on Luhan like a wave. Yixing narrowly avoids ploughing straight into his side and immediately steadies him with a hand on his shoulder and a concerned smile. Luhan scurries back into place before the instructor spots him, but he can feel a deep flush crawling up the back of his neck as he looks up and sees the haughty glance Jongin spares him in the mirror.

 

 

Things change very little over the following few weeks. 

Jongin isn’t always late, only sporadically slipping into the classroom once everyone else is assembled. Even on the rare occasions that he arrives early, eyes puffy and hair sleep mussed, he doesn’t really socialise much, instead sticking so close to Sehun and Kyungsoo that anyone would be forgiven for not even noticing he was there.

Luhan forms his own social circle, albeit more unintentionally, clustering together with Yixing and the rest of the Chinese trainees, and he observes Jongin silently from the safety of his own group. Nobody else seems to be fazed by this divide. They seem used to it, in fact, resigned to the impenetrable ice fortress Jongin has erected around himself. Even Yixing, when Luhan casually asks if he’s ever spoken to Jongin, just offers him a, “yeah. He’s a little shy but we get on well enough. I guess he just likes to keep himself to himself,” and turns his attention back to his lunch.

There’s nothing wrong with that, Luhan supposes, and Jongin definitely doesn’t deserve some of the more poisonous rumours going if it’s shyness, not arrogance, that makes him so unapproachable. 

Even still, Luhan finds himself wanting to get closer, wanting to bridge this divide that exists between Jongin and the rest of the class, between Jongin and himself. Luhan isn’t sure how he’s going to do that, exactly, but after a fortnight or so of daily classes together, it’s obvious to Luhan that he’s going to have to be the one to extend the proverbial olive branch. 

He waits until after class one day to make his move. 

“Hello,” Luhan says quietly. The rest of the students are filing out of the studio behind them and Luhan watches as Jongin tiredly leans back against the wall. His movements are languorous and he appraises Luhan with heavy eyelids. There’s a bead of sweat running down the side of his temple and Luhan swallows tightly, “I’m Luhan, and-“

“You’re a foreigner.” Jongin says. It isn’t accusatory, as such. The tone of voice is actually quite mild and, if anything, disinterested, but Luhan is still slightly taken aback by the bluntness of it. 

“I- yes. I’m from Beijing.” Jongin’s tongue darts out to sweep over chapped lips, but his facial expression doesn’t change. Luhan shuffles awkwardly. 

“I heard you speaking to the instructor earlier, so I guess I just assumed you were Korean.” His eyebrows arch, but there’s no bite to Jongin’s words. Not like some of the others, who still whisper viciously to each other as Luhan walks by, voices loud and scathing, as though Luhan couldn’t possibly understand, as though he was some kind of _idiot_. At least they have that in common, Luhan thinks wryly as he looks at Jongin, sees the dark bruises under his eyes. 

“I studied at Yonsei, so-“ Luhan explains, trailing off when he sees Jongin’s gaze drift away from his face to a point somewhere over his shoulder. He’s startled by the smile that blossoms over Jongin’s mouth, the way it lights up his face. It acts as a stark reminder that Jongin is still so young, that he’s being forced to shoulder such immense pressure when he’s barely even reached the cusp of adulthood.

“Sehun!” Jongin calls out and Luhan turns just in time to see Sehun poking his head through the open doorway, a tiny frown creasing just above his eyebrows. 

“Are you two finished gossiping? I’m fucking starving over here.” He huffs dramatically and the hot puff of air has his fringe flicking up. Sehun smoothes it down like it’s second nature and the image has Luhan’s lips twitching.

“Yeah, let’s get out of here.” Jongin claps his hand awkwardly on Luhan’s shoulder and swings his backpack up onto his shoulders. “Later Luhan,” he says, almost as an afterthought. Then he’s slinging a comfortable arm around Sehun’s shoulder and Luhan watches as they both disappear from sight. 

The sound of footsteps fades along the corridor and, as Luhan collects his belongings and begins to make his own way home, Jongin’s beautiful smile is imprinted on the back of his eyelids.

 

 

 

Luhan isn’t quite sure what he was expecting after that.

Jongin is still as quiet as ever. He does make the effort to greet Luhan before class now, though, so that’s something, at least. But Luhan is nothing if not a positive person and he is more than willing to start with baby steps if it will keep Jongin shooting that painfully shy smile in his direction.

Summer is beginning to close, oppressive and stuffy, around them; even with the windows thrown open, the heat in the studio is stifling and the pungent smell of teenage boy lingers unwanted in the air. The instructor has been running them through a new routine for a solid week now, but it’s far more complex than Luhan is used to and he still feels like the choreography is tying him in knots, spinning him round and round in increasingly helpless circles. 

Luhan’s stomach is rumbling and his t-shirt is soaked through with sweat by the time the instructor dismisses them, but he hangs back as everyone else collects their bags and files out. 

Luhan catches sight of Jongin in the mirror as he waves goodbye to Yixing. He strips his hoodie up over his head and Luhan’s breath catches as the soft muscles of Jongin’s stomach clench. Jongin turns around to dig a clean t-shirt out of his bag and Luhan swallows around the lump wedged in his throat, forces himself to stare at his own skinny reflection in the mirror instead of the smooth, tanned skin of Jongin’s back.

“Are you not going home?” Jongin asks once he’s dressed. The sound of him zipping up his bag almost echoes in the tiny studio and Luhan tries to school his expression into something more neutral as he turns around to face him. 

“Not yet. I still haven’t got the hang of this routine, so I’m going to stay a little longer.” Luhan feels almost self-conscious admitting that to Jongin, as though Jongin is some kind of hunting, prowling tiger and he can smell that vulnerability coming off Luhan in waves. 

Jongin appraises him quietly, dark eyes burning into Luhan’s, and then he glances down casually at his watch. “Go on then,” he encourages, those ratty old converse squeaking on the floor as he comes a little closer and stands a few feet behind Luhan, “just pretend I’m not here.”

Jongin lets Luhan run through the routine once, and even though he’d told Luhan to pretend he wasn’t there, Luhan finds himself unable to focus on anything but Jongin’s presence behind him. Luhan feels like his shoes are weighed down with lead and he’s hyper aware of Jongin’s gaze as he fumbles his way through the routine. He stutters to a halt when the song ends, and he hesitantly glances up at Jongin in the mirror, half expecting one of the verbal tirades he’s become used to from the instructors.

What Luhan doesn’t expect is for Jongin to close the gap between them in one step, pressing his chest right up against Luhan’s back, so that Luhan can feel too prominent ribs exhaling against his own bony spine. 

“You’re too tight,” Jongin says, placing his hands on Luhan’s hips and pressing firmly at the base of his back. “You need to loosen up before you can even think about the choreography, otherwise you’re just fighting a losing battle.” 

Jongin is an immensely tactile teacher and he continues to push and pull at Luhan until he feels the tension in his back start to subside. Jongin must be able to feel it beneath his palms because the corners of his full lips curl into a tiny little almost smile and he drops one of his hands. The other stays nestled at the base of Luhan’s spine, and Luhan can feel the pleasant, reassuring warmth seeping through his t-shirt. 

“You need to connect with the song more, too. You’re hitting most of the moves just fine, but you’re too detached.” Luhan hardly dares to breathe as Jongin looks him up and down, the subtle smell of his cologne and the sharp tang of sweat heavy around Luhan’s temples. “Think about the story you want to tell your audience, what you want to tell me, and run through it again.”

They continue like this for what must be hours, Luhan pushing his body through the routine over again and again until Jongin is satisfied. He’s a tough teacher, but he’s fair, and a pleased tingle dances up Luhan’s spine when Jongin claps both palms onto his shoulders.

Luhan swears he feels Jongin swipe the pad of his thumb over the clammy skin at the base of his neck, but the sensation is gone as quickly as it had appeared and Jongin is jogging over to his backpack, rummaging around until he emerges with a triumphant smile. Luhan almost drops the water Jongin tosses over to him. His hands are shaking with exertion but he finally manages to pop the bottle open. He sips at it politely until Jongin encourages him to take more with a little quirk of his chin and then Luhan tips his head back, swigging down almost half of the bottle.

By the time he’s done, gasping a little and wiping at the water that’s trickled down his chin, Jongin seems to have retreated back into his shell and he shuffles awkwardly as he watches Luhan. 

“Sehun talks about you a lot, you know.” He says shyly, as though admitting that he pays attention to the things Sehun says about him is some kind of secret. 

Luhan smiles softly and screws the cap back onto the bottle carefully. He tries to hand it back to Jongin, but he gestures at Luhan to keep drinking. “He’s a good kid. Are you two close?” 

The frown on Jongin’s face makes Luhan feel as though he’s crossed a line, bulldozed like an ox right over the rickety bridge Jongin has allowed him to construct between them. But then Jongin nods and says quietly, “He’s my best friend,” and that all but confirms Luhan’s suspicion that Jongin isn’t nearly as cold as he tries to makes out. Jongin looks at his watch again and pushes off the wall. “I have to go.”

Luhan immediately dips into a bow, but Jongin doesn’t give him a chance to speak before he’s shaking his head, hands flapping and ungainly in front of him. “It’s nothing, really,” Luhan doesn’t miss the deep, embarrassed flush that blossoms on Jongin’s tanned cheeks as he shrugs on his jacket and retrieves his bag. “I don’t mind helping people that are worth it. You’re a good dancer, Luhan.”

Luhan gapes, but before he can respond Jongin is gone and Luhan is left alone in the practice room, clinging to Jongin’s water bottle and feeling distinctly pole axed. 

 

 

One thing that remains constant throughout Luhan’s new life under SM Entertainment is Sehun. 

It had become something on an unspoken promise that they would continue going for bubble tea together and Luhan finds himself looking forward to it more and more as the pressure of training starts to ramp up to an almost unrelenting level, even if he does always have to pay. Sehun is easy to be around, comfortable, and Luhan treasures that when the tension presses down on his temples until Luhan feels like he can no longer breathe.

It’s this closeness, though, that makes Luhan hesitate as Sehun slides into the booth across from him and pierces happily through the lid of his coconut milk tea. Luhan knows there is probably no better source of information about Jongin than Sehun, but something still lingers, niggling and anxious, that makes Luhan reluctant to just come out and ask. Almost as though he isn’t quite ready to admit to Sehun how Jongin’s timid smile runs on a loop in his head when he’s trying to sleep, how he can still feel the comforting weight of Jongin’s palm against the base of his spine. It’s almost as though Luhan isn’t ready to admit to Sehun how he might be becoming just a little bit obsessed with his best friend.

In fact, the more Luhan runs it through in his mind, the more he feels completely ridiculous (he’s _twenty one years old_ , not a teenager experiencing their first crush) and the more he most definitely does _not_ want to talk to Sehun, of all people, about it. 

His inner turmoil must show on his face, though, because they can’t have been sat down for more than five minutes when Sehun looks up from his drink and levels a bored gaze at Luhan.

“What’s eating you?” He asks. Luhan awkwardly meets his gaze and considers bullshitting his way out of it. Although he’d asked, Luhan knows Sehun well enough to know that he doesn’t actually care enough to not let it slide. But as the silence stretches between them, and Sehun continues to stare at him with raised eyebrows, Luhan decides to take the plunge.

‘What’s Jongin like?” Sehun opens his mouth but Luhan interrupts him. “Not- not you know, ‘golden boy’” Luhan actually does air quotes, “the real Jongin, the one you’re best friends with.”

“Well,” Sehun chews thoughtfully and his eyes never leave Luhan’s face as he rolls his straw between his fingers. “He’s kinda quiet, at first, and that surprises a lot of people. I think, because he’s so good at what he does, everyone assumes he’s gonna be a massive dick, you know? And he’s not like that at all. He’s just a normal guy.” He pauses to sip at his drink and then he’s staring up at Luhan again. “Why do you ask?” If Luhan didn’t know better he’d think Sehun actually sounded suspicious.

Luhan fidgets with his cup, trailing his fingers up and down the ridges in the plastic. “No reason. He’s just been helping me out after dance practice, so I wanted to know more about him.”

Sehun hums, and the sound is so non-committal that Luhan doesn’t know quite what to do with it. “What?” Luhan probes. 

“That’s all?” Luhan nods fervently but Sehun just snorts. “I’ve seen the way you look at him, you know. It’s obvious you’ve got a raging boner for Jongin.”

Tapioca sticks Luhan’s teeth together and he suddenly feels stifled, like he can’t breathe, but Sehun just ploughs on, as though he can’t see the panic written across Luhan’s face. “This is normally where I tell people they’re wasting their time, but there must be something about you he likes if he’s willing to give up his free time to help you. He doesn’t do that for just anyone, you know.”

Luhan unsticks his teeth and gapes at Sehun. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Maybe he’s just being nice for the sake of being nice?” Luhan tries.

Sehun’s expression is deadpan as he stares across the table and Luhan squirms under the scrutiny. “You really don’t know Jongin at all, do you? He doesn’t just throw his help around at any old nobody.” Sehun noisily slurps up the last remaining dregs of his drink, then sets it aside and lays his hands flat on the table. “Look, I’m not saying for sure that he wants to bone you back, or whatever,” Luhan splutters, but Sehun ignores him again. “I’m just saying, there must be something about you that he likes, some kind of potential or something. Jongin’s been here a long time. He doesn’t just take random chances on cute Chinese boys, hope he gets lucky and ends up in a group with them. He must believe in you.”

Luhan blinks as he lets those words settle over him and he’s so dazed that he doesn’t even notice when Sehun pilfers his barely touched tea from right under his nose.

 

 

Leaves begin to fall one by one from the trees as summer draws to a close, bringing with it a cool autumn breeze that bites at Luhan’s cheeks as he makes his way to dance practice, turning them bright apple blossom red.

He and Jongin end up staying later and later after practice. They pull the windows tight against the seeping chill and dance together until they can no longer stand and exhaustion settles in the marrow of their bones.

Afterwards they slump down onto the floor and it kind of becomes a thing, _their_ thing, to lie there for hours, pulling stupid faces at their reflections in the mirror. Jongin stretches long legs out in front of him, knocking his toes against Luhan’s bony ankles until Luhan shrieks and kicks back. 

They don’t always talk a lot, but the silences that stretch between them are comfortable as they sit and try to catch their breath, gulping down water from the same bottle.

There have been whispers along the corridors, rumours that gears are beginning to crank into motion for the next SM boy band. But they try not to let those voices break beyond the locked studio door, ignoring them as best they can when the nerves and the tension of what this could mean are written into almost every inch of their bodies. 

Instead they talk about safe things. Sometimes Jongin will ask him about himself, about China. He sits, eyes bright and mouth slightly slack with wonder as he quizzes Luhan about the Forbidden City, taste buds tingling as Luhan counts street foods off on his fingers, sweet dumplings and tender lamb kebabs, _shuan yang rou_ that warms you from the inside out during winter. 

They bicker good-naturedly about football, Jongin adamant that Luhan’s allegiances lie with the wrong team. He crosses his arms over his chest like a petulant child as he says, “Chelsea will win the league this year and then we’ll see who’s the crazy one.” Luhan kicks playfully at Jongin’s shoe and the barely there grin as he pulls his foot away and smacks at Luhan’s bicep makes something small and pleased flutter in his stomach.

Luhan finds himself unable to forget what Sehun had said to him as Jongin unfurls before his eyes like a sunflower, as that shy smile is replaced by a heartbreakingly beautiful grin that rattles right down to Luhan’s ribcage. Jongin thinks he’s going to make it, Jongin believes in him, and the weight of that revelation weighs heavily in Luhan’s chest. It makes him want to be better. 

He isn’t going to let Jongin down. 

 

 

 

Eventually the private little bubble they’d conjured around themselves bursts.

It becomes impossible to pretend that the whispers haven’t grown, that they haven’t reached their crescendo, whizzing over the heads of every male trainee in the company. 

Jongin is the first name on everyone’s lips, of course he is, and Luhan feels sick, stomach constantly churning at the thought of not being included. He works harder than he ever remembers working before, singing until his throat is raw and dancing until his legs turn to jelly. The thought of having to go back home to China, having to face his parents, is bad enough, but _now_ , now he has the added pressure of Jongin’s expectation, Jongin’s belief in him, all of the hours that Jongin has sacrificed to try and help Luhan become the best that he can be. Luhan can’t betray that trust, doesn’t even want to imagine the look on Jongin’s face if he has to tell him he hasn’t made it. 

People keep getting called in to talks with members of staff, disappearing right in the middle of classes and turning up hours later, lips sealed tight and exhaustion obvious in their eyes. 

Potential line-ups are bandied about; Luhan is in some of them, excluded from others. The uncertainty isn’t even given time to roil in Luhan’s stomach when twelve of them are called into a meeting: there are some faces Luhan barely recognises, others he knows well. Sehun and Jongin are both there, huddled close together. Sehun, for once in his life, looks sick with nerves. He has his hand clamped tightly around Jongin’s wrist and Luhan feels his own fingers twitch.

Jongin looks up and all of the breath is knocked from Luhan’s lungs by the fire burning in his eyes. Luhan clings to that and tries in vain to stop his knees shaking. 

When the news finally comes, that this is it, that the twelve men stood in this room will debut as EXO, Luhan’s entire body sags back against the wall.

Everything blurs together after that. It feels like they’re trapped in that office for hours, signing contracts and clutching frenetically at each other’s shoulders in one final, desperate attempt not to let the sheer emotion of everything finally bubble over.

Nothing makes sense to Luhan anymore, words like _subgroups_ and _teasers_ and _Chinese market_ hitting grey matter somewhere between Luhan’s ears. He feels that all too familiar drowning sensation and he’s about to excuse himself, to beg for five minutes of fresh air, when fingers close around Luhan’s wrist and drag him from the room. 

Luhan isn’t even given a chance to speak before Jongin pushes him forcefully into an empty stairwell, shoves him up against the wall, and pulls him into a fierce kiss. 

Jongin kisses like he’s dying. His mouth slides, hot and wet and open, against Luhan’s, tongue sweeping urgently over the bow of Luhan’s lips. Luhan falls willingly, hands coming up to cradle Jongin’s skull, tufts of black hair clenched tightly between his fingers.

Luhan mewls breathlessly when Jongin steps back. His grip is still tight around Luhan’s wrist and Luhan isn’t quite sure what to make of the expression on his face. 

“What’s that look for?” he gasps, and his voice is so blown Luhan almost doesn’t recognise it.

Then that almost achingly beautiful smile is blossoming across Jongin’s face and he grasps Luhan’s cheeks in both hands, thumbs grazing over his cheekbones. 

“I knew we could do it. I _knew_ it.” And that admission, the complete lack of a waiver in Jongin’s voice, to know that Jongin so whole heartedly believed in him where so many others had let him down; Luhan can hear the blood rushing in his ears and he feels a grin splitting his own face almost clean in two. 

He grips Jongin by the back of the neck and pushes him further into the stairwell, hemming him up against the wall. The lack of light makes Jongin’s eyes shine and in that moment Luhan has never seen anyone more breathtakingly beautiful in his entire life. 

Luhan captures Jongin’s mouth, revels in the way his smile tastes like triumph, and his own lips are bruised and swollen by the time he pulls back to whisper, 

“We made it.”

Jongin doesn’t answer, but the relieved laugh that tumbles from his mouth as he hooks one arm around Luhan’s waist and pulls him closer tells Luhan everything he needs to know. 

They didn’t just make it. 

They made it together.


End file.
